


A Long Lonely Road

by KittyHawke



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Headcanon, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, In a way, Sad Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyHawke/pseuds/KittyHawke
Summary: Booker expected to be alone for 100 years, but mere months after being exiled, a call from Copley sends him back to the team. He hopes for a chance of reconciliation, but even immortals can have wounds that linger.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Everyone
Comments: 20
Kudos: 120





	A Long Lonely Road

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story that explored both my hopes that Booker will be apologetic and try to make amends for his mistakes, and also my belief that the team will need time to get over his betrayal and are under no obligation to rush their healing. I hope I have been able to balance that well. Most importantly, I hope it will be a good read for you.

Copley called him at the end of a three day binge, which had sadly brought him no closer to death as his stupid high-powered liver healed faster than he could drink. Booker ignored the call on the first occasion, couldn’t find the phone among the mess for the second and third, and finally caught the fourth right before it rang out. He looked hopefully for a familiar name on the caller ID, the brief rise of his spirits plummeting when he saw the wrong one.

“What?” he demanded groggily. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used his voice for anything more taxing than asking where the beer was kept.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Copley said. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. The team have gone off-radar.”

Booker propped himself up against the wall and tried to blink clarity back into his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I haven’t been able to contact them. They haven’t checked in for three days and I’m worried something has gone wrong. They’ll be furious at me for making this call…”

“Send me what you have” Booker requested, pinching his nose.

“I’m sorry to ask you to do this alone, but…”

“Intelligence.”

His phone beeped and he took it away from his ear to find a new message already sitting in his inbox. He forced his eyes to focus on the dancing words. _Colombia. Drug labs. Last report. Planning to move operations. Immediate strike._

It included an address in Medellin where the operation was supposedly headquartered. That would be a good place to start.

“You’re the only one who has a chance of getting in and out without blowing…” Copley was saying.

Booker had already hung up the phone. Three hours later he was on a plane to Colombia.

He practiced his speech on the journey, writing the bare bones of a script on a piece of paper so he wouldn’t forget any important points.

In his head he imagined bursting in to save the day, the team being so grateful for his assistance that they would at least be willing to hear him out, maybe even take mercy and lessen the length of his exile.

He should have realised by now that plans always looked better than reality.

They were being held in a concrete bunker within the lab, their hands tied to beams on the ceiling so they dangled off the ground. It was a very effective torture, agonising without being deadly. It also meant that they had neither the strength nor the inclination to punch Booker when they saw him.

Andy was the only one who didn’t lift her head when the door opened, and he freed her first, catching her and holding her steady as she sought to regain her footing. She stepped away and groaned as she allowed herself to drop gracefully to sit on the floor, her arms hanging uselessly, and he realised that she wouldn’t be able to wield a weapon on their way out.

“How long since you’ve been fed?” he asked, cutting Nile’s ropes next.

“About two days” she answered, and grunted as she fell to the floor.

“Water?”

“The same.”

He freed Nicky and Joe, and swung his backpack off to retrieve some water bottles. There was nothing he could do about the food, but this was more urgent. Nile grabbed two and knelt down to help Andy drink some. It broke his heart to see the changes wrought in only six months, the subtle signs of aging that wouldn’t have been so obvious if he hadn’t been away from her.

“Weapons?” Joe asked sharply, bringing his attention back. Booker pulled out a couple of sidearms and handed them over, hearing the click of the clips being taken out and put back in. He handed another gun to Nile and looked questioningly at Andy. A ghost of a smile crept through the pain on her face and she slightly shook her head.

“Listen, I just wanted to say…” he began.

“Not right now.”

Nile cut him off, somewhat to his surprise, barely looking at him as she helped Andy get to her feet. Joe and Nicky moved past him and the three of them seamlessly formed a protective wall around Andy, guns at the ready, leaving Booker standing foolishly and wondering where his place was.

No-one had yet said thank-you, he noted, and then chastised himself for the thought. Nile was right. There were bigger things to worry about.

He took Andy’s other side so she had no vulnerable spots and they made their way out and up a wooden staircase to the main building. Nile stepped out first and met no resistance, leading the way along a narrowing corridor that forced them out of formation and into single file.

Booker could see what was about to happen and readied himself to jump into cover.

The rattle of gunfire was joined briefly by Nile’s shout and she dropped. Nicky pulled Andy aside and blocked the next shots with his body. Booker, now the exposed one, dove into a doorway and pressed his back to the wall. He turned his head and saw that Joe had done the same on the other side, and was watching anxiously as Nicky tried to crawl into cover.

Booker stuck his head out. Nile was still dead, but not for long, and men were starting to walk through the smoke towards them. He caught Joe’s eye and signalled. His brother’s eyebrows lowered, the prospect of working with Booker apparently displeasing, but he nodded.

They stepped out together and opened fire, watching the bodies fall. Booker cursed as a bullet tore through his side and spun to fire into the doorway next to him, briefly seeing a person before they vanished from sight. When all was quiet, he looked to Joe and found him arising from the ground as a bullet popped out of his knee. Without glancing at Booker, he hurried to Nicky’s side and helped him to his feet. They briefly looked for injuries on each other before Joe put an arm around Andy, shielding her as they walked. Nile had revived and Nicky was checking on her.

A perfect unit of four. There had been a time when he was part of it, and even then, he had never fitted in as well as Nile did. He shook his head, checked his supply of bullets and followed them. There was time for self-pity later, plenty of it.

They came to the end of the corridor, which formed a T-shape with sharp corners in either direction and paused to listen intently. There was no sound of anything approaching. Nicky moved out first, immediately collapsing and turning onto his back to shoot the one who’d ambushed him. Nile and Joe turned their weapons in either direction to make sure there were no others waiting, but it seemed the place was empty. Nicky sat up and rubbed his hamstring as the bullet worked its way out.

“Booker,” Joe snapped. He stood to attention at the sound of his name. “You go first.”

Ah. Okay.

He moved to his assigned position and led the way along the next corridor, swinging his gun toward every doorway he passed, until they came to a dead end with a single door set into the wall. He looked back at his team, received the nod, and opened it.

It led to an industrial kitchen. Funny how he hadn’t considered that even drug cartels needed to eat. Or cook their supply on-site.

He had taken three steps inside when someone launched out from behind the counter and he swung his gun, glancing their head, but failing to stop the trajectory of the kitchen knife which sank into his arm.

He yelled, but before he or his attacker could make another move, Andy ran forward and kneed the man in the jaw. He fell backwards and Andy followed, performing a roundhouse kick as soon as he raised his head and knocking him unconscious. Nile swiftly moved forward to Andy’s side and started clearing one area of the kitchen, Nicky taking care of the other. Booker took the opportunity to pull the blade out of his arm, wincing with pain and frustration. It took a few seconds for the nerves and muscles to knit back together and allow him to lift his gun once more. When he looked around, Joe was still watching the rear.

He was strangely pleased that they hadn’t just walked on without him.

The exit wasn’t far from there, the kitchen’s fire door depositing them outside the building and mere metres away from a busy street.

“Car?” Andy asked. She was breathing heavily and being supported between Joe and Nile.

“This way.”

He had parked in an underground lot with no lights, no CCTV and no witnesses. As they approached, he pressed the fob to unlock and Nile finally separated from Andy to take them. He stopped walking and watched as his family surrounded the car. He wasn’t welcome here. He should just leave. No-one was paying him any attention.

“I know you’re angry” he said.

At least they stopped and looked at him.

“I understand, but I want to apologise…”

The rest of his words died at the stony looks on their faces. He took note of how tired and bloody they were, ripped clothes and dried blood providing evidence of torture, how Andy looked ready to pass out where she stood. He felt like an idiot for thinking it could be so simple – one good deed cancelling out one bad deed, a rescue to make up for a betrayal.

“Not the right time,” he said, backing away. “I’m glad you’re all safe. I’ll go now.”

“You can say what you need to in the car” Andy called wearily. She was already climbing into the back seat when he turned around. Joe followed her and closed the door.

Booker approached cautiously, expecting to be thrown out even as he got into the front passenger seat. Nile pressed some buttons on the GPS.

“You know where we’re going?” she asked.

“The safe house is up on the coast,” Andy sighed. “Necocli. One of the men will take over driving when you’re tired.”

Booker turned, alarmed by the weakness in her voice, and regretted it upon seeing the matching frowns of the men flanking her.

“You’re my navigator, okay?” Nile said sternly, an instruction more than a question, and Booker settled back in a front-facing position.

“Yeah.”

He had thought nothing could be worse than the hours directly after Merrick, but somehow this was. Back then the wound had been raw and he had still been their brother. Now they had had time to get used to life without him, healing faultlessly over the hole he’d left and creating a new formation where he no longer fit, and his betrayal was his lasting legacy in their minds.

Andy fell asleep quickly and stayed that way for almost the whole journey. Despite her words, Booker couldn’t bring himself to apologise on the drive. It was no good if she wasn’t awake to hear it, and he was too afraid of tipping the tense peace in the car and causing an explosion.

Nile was the only one who acknowledged him, in the form of worried glances and questions about which road to take next. When she was replaced by Joe, the tension could be cut with a knife. Booker couldn’t help noticing that his brother drove strictly according to GPS instructions and made no attempt to point out the scenery. He usually did that even after missions, trying to cheer people up and spark conversations. It had been annoying when all Booker had wanted to do was sleep, but now he missed it. He would have welcomed any chance to pretend that things were the same, even if just for a short while.

Nicky drove for the last leg and, while the tension lessened, the silence was equally deafening. Andy finally woke as they pulled off onto a dirt path leading towards a large farmhouse. It had been well-chosen, seemingly providing enough space to accommodate them all without anyone stepping on toes.

Booker waited outside the car for further instructions, hoping to be invited in, but not expecting it. Nile rounded the vehicle to toss the keys back to him and he thought that was it, a clear sign that he was supposed to drive off and leave them in peace.

“You need to change clothes” she said, already turning to walk away.

“I’m okay…”

“It wasn’t a question.”

She was going to be a great leader one day. He hoped that he would be around to serve under her.

Andy was the only one left when he stepped inside the house. She was sitting on an old sofa and trying to raise a hand to rub her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Booker asked.

She looked at him through tired eyes and one corner of her mouth quirked. “I’m fine, Book. They barely touched me. Every time they tried, one of the others caused a huge fuss.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“There’s another bathroom upstairs. You can shower first. You need it more than me” she said, sounding disappointed about the comparative lack of blood on her.

He took the hint and went upstairs, finding two bathrooms sitting side by side before him. One door was closed and he could hear a shower already running. He moved towards the other door and then heard a muffled voice next to him, incomprehensible behind the wall and the falling water, but undeniably male. He almost threw himself into the bathroom, hesitating to turn his shower on in case they realised that he was there, before shaking himself. For God’s sake, he was a grown man and he would not be reduced to creeping around. He had saved them! He stripped off, stepped into the bath and turned the shower on. The water was cold.

Ah. Okay.

He waited until they were done and hoped for the hot water to come back. It did not. They’d depleted all of it. That was fine. He washed quickly and reminded himself that it was nice of them to let him stay. He’d expected to be sent away as soon as the rescue was done. There was no indication that they wanted him here, but they were still offering a basic level of support for a fellow soldier. Maybe that was all he was now. Maybe that was all he could hope to be. Maybe that could be enough, to be allowed to see them during missions and then leave again.

No. No, it wouldn’t be. He would rather stay away for 100 years than be kept on a yo-yo string. He suspected that they would rather honour the exile too.

He grabbed the towel, drying with harsh rubs in hopes of getting some heat into his shivering skin, and then dug into his backpack and pulled out the change of clothes he’d expected to don in a cheap motel. He opened the door, looked around for any sign of life, and then gathered his things and went downstairs.

Andy was sitting on the floor before Nile, as the younger woman rubbed oil into her shoulders.

“This will help you sleep, but you need to go to a hospital tomorrow” Nile said. Andy hummed equivocally.

“I guess I’ll just go” Booker remarked, thumbing at the door and secretly hoping that one of them would stop him.

“Nicky’s making dinner” Nile said, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Oh.”

He waited dumbly, unsure if that was an invitation or not. That was answered by a violent clatter of a plate in the kitchen and he looked over to see Joe setting the table. Their eyes met briefly before Joe looked away.

“Nicky always makes too much,” Andy said, rolling her shoulders and groaning. “You might as well eat.”

It was hardly the warm welcome he’d dreamed of, but that was never truly a possibility. He would take this. Every second that they allowed him to stay was a memory that would carry him through the lonely nights ahead.

Dinner was lasagne, a hearty meal of meat and vegetables that Nicky could make better than anyone Booker had ever known. Joe served himself first, Booker watching as the dish was passed to Andy, then to Nile beside her, and finally the end of the table where Nicky had taken a seat. It was fine. They’d gone through a tough mission. They deserved to eat first. At least Nicky remembered to push the dish towards Booker when he was done.

There was plenty left. He really had made too much. They could have fed Copley as well with this.

Silence filled the kitchen as people ate. For once Booker didn’t think it was a result of anything he’d done. The whole family were attacking their food with gusto. He lacked their appetite and had to force himself to eat, fearing what would happen when they were sated enough to speak.

“How did you know where to find us?” Joe asked. Booker startled at being spoken to.

“Copley.”

Andy smiled humourlessly. “Of course.”

“He figured it would be the best way to get you out without loss of life…”

“And he was right,” she interrupted. “You did well, Book.”

“Thanks” Nile added.

Booker nodded his acknowledgement at her. His gaze drifted to the seat next to her, where Nicky was eating and refusing to look up from his plate, and realised for the first time that his other brother hadn’t spoken a word to him all day. He’d been so concerned about how Joe would react that he hadn’t thought about Nicky, but now it was obvious that the Italian was flat-out pretending that he wasn’t there.

It hurt more than he expected. He had always been closer to Joe, but Nicky was the one who listened and let him vent when he didn’t want to be cheered up. Booker hadn’t appreciated that quiet sort of affection enough, or taken notice of that quiet anger.

“I need to say something” he murmured. Andy lowered her fork and looked at him expectantly.

Booker tried to remember the main points from his script – he was sorry, he’d thought long and hard about what he’d done, he understood that he was in the wrong, he would be so grateful if they could find it in their hearts to give him another chance – but suddenly everything he’d written seemed so stupid and wrong. It was a script filled with both grand statements and empty platitudes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. So weak, so inadequate. “I should never have done…I betrayed your trust and I…I got so lost in my own head that I thought my pain was all that mattered. I thought…”

No, this was starting to veer towards an attempt to justify himself.

“I was only thinking of myself. I didn’t appreciate what you did for me…”

No, now it was heading towards self-pity.

“I understand if you don’t feel able to trust me again. The agreement was 100 years and if that’s what you need, I will stick to it, but if there is anything else I can do to prove myself then I will. I miss you.”

He forced himself to close his mouth and say no more. That was the heart of the matter. He had messed up and he would be willing to do anything to make it right.

Nicky finally broke eye contact with his pasta and leaned back in his chair, looking at Booker and still saying nothing. Booker looked around for any more welcoming responses. Joe had folded his arms and closed his eyes, and was breathing slowly through his nose. Nile was simply looking around the table to see what everyone else was doing.

“It’s late,” Andy said quietly. “Is it okay with everyone if Booker leaves in the morning?”

Nile nodded immediately. Joe and Nicky looked at each other and then did the same.

Andy gave a slight smile. “You can take the car with you. Dump it when you’re home.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was a sign that the door was open. It was enough.

“We are going now” Nicky said, already standing up. Joe’s chair scraped as he did the same.

Logically, Booker knew that it wasn’t because of him. Joe and Nicky often did this after tough missions, disappearing somewhere to be intimate without making anyone uncomfortable. It was still hard to shake the feeling that they were running away from him.

“See you tomorrow” Andy said.

“We’ll bring coffee” Joe promised, kissing her head. She smiled and bumped her forehead against his hand.

“Two espresso shots.”

“You got it, boss.”

The door closed. Closed, not slammed. Booker was taking every little win he could get.

“See,” Andy said. “I told you to have a little faith.”

“I don’t think I’ll be welcome back any time soon” he admitted.

“Give it time. You’ll be home before 100 years.”

“There’ll be plenty of room for you” Nile said. He looked at her, surprised, and she pointed at the ceiling. Ah. The bedrooms. Okay.

Nile did the dishes and Booker volunteered himself to dry and put away, a small gesture that nevertheless made her smile and say thank-you.

Andy had already gone to bed when he ventured upstairs, leaving Nile to play on her phone, and found the main bedroom in darkness. She was snoring in one corner and he settled down on a mattress at the opposite side of the room, pushing himself as far into the wall as possible.

It still felt so wrong to be here.

Sleep took a long time to come.

He dreamed of Paris, its cobbled streets and the bright colours of the tourist shops, the grey haze that hung over the city and was so reminiscent of his mood, and caught a glimpse of the door leading to his apartment before jolting awake.

Andy and Nile were still asleep and the sun hadn’t yet risen. He took a moment to commit Andy's face to memory, in case it was the last chance he ever had, and slipped out as silently as he could. Better this than awkward conversations over breakfast.

He dumped the car in Baranquilla and got a taxi to the airport.

It was the next day when he stepped back onto Parisian soil. He stopped at the first off-licence he found and bought a bottle of whiskey, gulping at it as he walked along the street, uncaring of the disgusted looks he received on his way. By the time he stumbled through the gate to his apartment, the world was starting to tip sideways and he had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. There was no room for any other thoughts to take root and he liked it that way.

His grip failed and the bottle fell, shattering around his feet. He cursed at the glass and kicked it aside, groaned and sat down heavily on the steps. He had to clear that up. He’d do it later. He didn’t feel able to do anything except fall into bed and hope oblivion claimed him quickly.

He fumbled for his key and scratched at the lock, only for the door to swing open slightly. In an instant the alcohol haze had cleared and his hand was reaching down the back of his trousers, readying the gun. He stepped quickly into the apartment, barrel pointed directly at the intruder.

The very familiar intruder.

“Booker,” she said softly. The sight of her sipping a glass of water was inexplicably disturbing. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a kudos or comment if you did, and have a nice day.


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